After the Woods
by CheerfulChemist
Summary: <html><head></head>What 11 year old Ricky saw in the woods, related events that happened to college age Rick, how Rick's disappearance flowed from those events, and Castle's homecoming. This is M for subject matter. I own nothing, but Castle lives in my brain. Follow me on Twitter @CheerfulChemist</html>
1. Chapter 1

After the Woods

Chapter One

Ricky's face was red and his lips were cracked. Even inside his gloves, his hands were stiff. The woods in February were not a comfortable place to be, and he wasn't supposed to be there, but anything was better than watching Mother with her newest friend. Mother loved her scenes, but did he have to hear the same stupid lines over and over? Even in the cold, the silence was better. From a summer visit, he remembered a shack ahead that had once been used for making maple syrup. The boards were loose and cracked, but would offer some shelter. As the shack loomed in the distance, Ricky's steps became faster. He was almost there when he heard sounds that had been lost in the biting wind. He peered through a space between the boards gratefully noticing the feel of warmer air on his face. A heater had been set up inside near a mattress occupied by a man and a woman. They were making the kind of sounds that he sometimes heard from his mother's room when she was with one of her friends. Ricky was about to turn away, but curiosity overcame the grossness factor and he watched.

"Do it now," the woman urged, holding out a scarf. She smiled as the man pulled it around her neck and she flailed against the mattress. Her smile faded as he pulled it tighter, her lips forming the word "stop," but the man continued to pull until she was still.

As Ricky gasped, the man turned at the sound. Ricky ran. It began to snow, swirling around him and filling his tracks. Pulling off his snowy things when he finally reached the safety of his mother's rented cottage, he retreated behind the door of his room. He could hear his mother still playing a scene. She didn't know he had broken the rules by going out and he was afraid to confess. He knew only one way to shut out the memory of what he'd seen at the shack. He pulled a notebook out of his suitcase and huddling under the comforter on his bed, began to write.

* * *

><p>"Come on Rick, it will be fun," Justine urged. "We can take a boat out to the island with Bobby and Jerry. They said there's all kinds of cool music and a whole arcade of games. It'll be a blast."<p>

Rick wasn't sure. He had a new story idea he was working on and he wanted to get it down on paper. But Justine was insistent and when she didn't get what she wanted, well he just didn't get any. "All right" he agreed, "we can go for the weekend."

The motorboat delivered them to the dock, where Bobby and Jerry greeted them with smiles. "Rick, you are going to love this place," Bobby assured him. "Just wait until you see the new _Star Wars_ video game. It's incredible."

Rick found the game to be as described and played enthusiastically with Justine cheering him on, until the rumbles in their stomachs became impossible to ignore. Bobby and Jerry led the way to a large dining hall. Most of the tables and benches were empty, but there was a buffet table featuring barbecue and pizza and a dispenser offering an array of soft drinks. "Who pays for all this?" Rick asked.

"Oh there's some rich guy who got into drugs as a teenager. When he finally got off them, he set up the island as a safe place where we can just come and have fun," Jerry explained.

Rick thought the explanation sounded a little strange, but he never turned down a free meal. The pizza was good, but had a strange aftertaste that Rick couldn't identify. There was plenty of soda to wash it down and the taste disappeared completely in the spiciness of the barbecue. He was feeling a bit sleepy when Bobby and Jerry ushered him into a cushion filled room where Rick could just hold Justine and drift with the music.

* * *

><p>Rick didn't know how long it had been before he woke up in a bunkhouse. There was no sign of Jerry, Bobby, or Justine, but there were about a hundred other people about his age, sleeping on thin mattresses, barely covered by blankets. They all wore the same gray sweats over thin bodies. Suddenly loud music poured from a speaker on the wall, and the occupants of the room came to instant alertness. Pulling on worn gray sneakers, they walked toward the door, where a black shirted man waited. When Rick was alone in the room, sitting on his bunk, the man in black approached. "Join the others." he ordered.<p>

"Join the others for what?" Rick demanded. "Wheres Justine? Where are Jerry and Bobby?"

"That's not your concern," the man answered, pulling Rick roughly to his feet. "You belong to Joshua now. You'll do what you are told or you will suffer the consequences. Now join the others!"

Rick was pushed toward the door and out. It was barely light, but he immediately saw a large field with rows of plants. The other residents of the bunkhouse were already working, pulling weeds and breaking up the soil. Rick's captor forced him to his knees. "Now work."

"No," Rick argued, his words immediately met by the bite of a riding crop across his shoulders.

"I said work," his punisher repeated.

Rick could feel blood seeping into his shirt. He reached out for the plants the other workers were pulling from the ground. "That's right," the black shirted man told him. "All of Joshua's children obey."

The sun rose higher in the sky and Rick was bathed in sweat when a whistle blew. All the workers around him rose and began to walk away from the field. Glad of the respite, Rick followed to what he recognized as the dining hall. There was no pizza or barbecue that morning, just oatmeal, which he had never liked, with no sugar or cream to improve it. Despite his distaste, he could see the black shirted man watching him and ate with the others. Rick had just put down his spoon when black shirt announced the recitation of the creed. The workers around Rick stood, urging him with their eyes to stand with them. The words were a rumble around the tables. Joshua is our father. Joshua is the source of all. Joshua commands and we will obey.

Black shirt came toward Rick, menacingly raising the crop. "Say it!" he commanded.

Haltingly Rick repeated, "Joshua is our father. Joshua is the source of all. Joshua commands and we obey."

Rick was sent back to the field with the others. He worked until his hands were raw, his shoulders screamed, and it was too dark to tell one plant from another. After a minimal meal of bread, apple butter, and water, and another recitation of the creed, he was finally allowed to return to his bunk to fall into exhausted slumber.

The pain in his hands and shoulders woke Rick before the music played in the morning. He could see that the occupant of the next bunk was shifting painfully, awake as well. "Hey, Rick whispered, "there are only a few of the black shirts. If we all joined together, we could take them easily and get off this island."

"How?" his bunk mate asked. "They only keep one boat here and the men who guard it have guns, not riding crops. Besides, haven't you heard the creed? We belong to Joshua. Most of these guys have repeated it so many times they believe it. They'll do whatever the black shirts tell them to do."

"But you don't believe it," Rick observed.

"I haven't been here that long," the young man answered, "but sooner or later I probably will. The way they almost starve us, after a while it dulls the brain. People don't think anymore, they just obey."

Martha paced the floor of the Green Room, then tried to call Rick for the hundredth time, but the phone just rang. Something was very wrong and she was going to find out what. At the stage door she found Smitty, a retired cop now in charge of theater security. He could tell from the look on her face and the slightly imperfect makeup job, that she was upset. "Problem, Martha?' he asked.

The pitch of her voice was deep with worry. "Smitty, I think there is, and I need your help."

Martha, Smitty, and Byron James chose a back booth in a little cafe and kept their voices low. "Smitty asked me to poke around," Byron told Martha, his Brooklyn accent a sharp contrast to his poetic name. "No one has seen your son for over a month. He and his girlfriend Justine were hanging with some guys, I just heard Bobby and Jerry, no last names. I looked into them a little deeper, Justine too. Kids who have hung with the three of them end up disappearing. The word I've heard is that they're recruiters for some kind of cult this guy Joshua has on an island up the coast."

"A cult?" Martha repeated? "I can't imagine Richard wanting to join a cult."

"I've just picked up on little bits and pieces," Byron explained, "but from what I heard, membership isn't voluntary. The kids go to the island and can't come back."

"Can't someone do something about that?" Martha asked, horrified. "If someone is kidnapping kids, shouldn't the FBI be involved?"

"The problem," Byron clarified is that this Joshua has set himself up as some kind of religious leader and no one has actually managed to file a verifiable complaint. They may be brainwashing the kids into being loyal to that jerk. So far all that's out there is rumors. The FBI has no basis to interfere."

"So what can be done?" Martha asked.

"Essentially, we have to stage a kidnapping of our own," Byron offered. "We go to the island, reconnoiter and see if we can grab your son. Hopefully he'll actually want to come."

"He'll want to come," Martha assured Byron as she tried to reassure herself. "He has the Rodgers stubbornness. His brain won't wash easily."

"All right," Byron agreed, "I'll get some people together, check out the island and plan the operation. I'll call you when I have it set up."

Martha thanked him and silently prayed the call would come soon.


	2. Chapter 2

After the Woods

Chapter 2

Byron James cut the motor on his boat and he and his small squad used oars to silently reach the shore of the island. A short flight by a friend in a private plane had revealed the layout of the fields and the buildings in the compound. A previous reconnaissance had yielded the work schedule. The plan was to locate Rick in the field during daylight hours but snatch him at dusk during the return to the bunkhouse, when the black shirts were least watchful. As the squad took up a position on the far end of a field, Byron stared through his binoculars. He could see Rick working with a small hand spade tilling around a plant. He looked thin and drawn, weighing at least twenty pounds less than in the pictures Martha had shown him. Byron hoped that Rick was strong enough to run if he had to.

As the last traces of color disappeared from the sky, Byron moved his squad into the shadows beside the dining hall. Using a night scope he picked Rick out from the group of emaciated workers moving toward the entrance. He considered it fortunate that Rick was near the end of the line. As Rick neared the entrance, Byron shot out of his hiding place to grab Rick. Covering Rick's mouth with a beefy hand, he whispered in his ear, "Your mother sent me to get you. Nod if you understand." Feeling Rick nod, Byron removed his hand from Rick's mouth. Silently he motioned his squad to move back across the fields to their boat.

Black shirted Marco surveyed the workers pitifully grabbing the meager amount of food on the tables. He made a mental count. Someone was missing. He hit a button on his walkie-talkie. "One of the congregation is missing, that pretty boy Rick. Turn on the lights, call the men, and tell Joshua."

The fields were illuminated with the powerful beams of searchlights, catching Rick, Byron and his squad in flight. "Get ready to rumble," Byron instructed his men, as he drew his weapon and started to run, pulling Rick with him. Byron's men also drew weapons as they moved. Several black shirts pursued the fleeing men, while three more, bearing guns, moved inland from where Joshua's boat was moored. As Byron and his men approached their own boat they found themselves at a standoff with Joshua's minions.

As they regarded each other, a man in black robes approached, flanked by two more armed black shirts. "Rick," he intoned, "I am Father Joshua. You belong to me."

Rick stared at the face, barely illuminated by moonlight, a face with an evil that threw him back to that day in Hollander's Woods. The tangle of horror and fear given vent only on paper for tortuous years exploded in his words. "No way in hell!"

"Think about it, Joshua," Byron told him. "My men are not some kids you've coerced. People know that they're here, and why. If I don't return, if they don't return, you won't be able to cloak yourself in phoney religious piety. Law enforcement will come pouring in here with more force than you can imagine. Let the boy go."

"Rick," Joshua proclaimed, "you may go with these men, but know this, at the point in your life when you face the most joy, I will come for you, and you will face a hell beyond imagination."

Rick stiffened, but was urged to the boat by Byron. "He's just talking," Byron whispered. Rick shivered as Joshua's dark figure retreated in the distance.

* * *

><p>Byron sat across from Martha at the small table in a New York apartment that contained less jewelry than it had before Rick's rescue. Martha didn't mourn the loss. Anything she had was worth the return of her son. "The FBI raided the island based on Rick's statement," Byron reported. "They found the other prisoners, some of them in pretty bad shape, but Joshua and his men were gone. There was no sign of where he went. Scum like that, he'll probably set up shop somewhere else."<p>

Martha gave an involuntary shudder. "I hope not. What he told Rick..."

Byron awkwardly patted her hand. "Just words. How is Rick doing?"

"He's better," Martha replied, "He's working with some people who specialize in this kind of thing. They're making him eat lots of protein. Not that he objects," Martha commented with a smile, "he does love his cheeseburgers. They're also helping him put the experience out of his mind, or at least to the back of his mind. I think when college starts again next month it will be good for him to go back. He told me he's going to a science fiction convention this weekend. For him, that's normal."

"Glad to hear it," Byron said, standing to leave. "Well I guess we're done."

"I hope to God we are," Martha thought as she closed the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Rick let his body sink into the depths of the giant beanbag chair opposite Brian Pierce. They were almost the same age, Brian older by less than a year. "How long did it take you?" Rick asked.<p>

"To get over being taken by a cult?" Brian asked.

Rick nodded.

"I'm not sure I have gotten over it," Brian replied. "I've gotten past it, but it's changed the way I want to spend my life. Before it happened, I was just interested in whatever career I could make the most money doing. Now I'm looking towards helping people get over bad experiences, maybe even learn to forget them. How about you?"

"I'm just trying to understand how people can do the things that they do. It mystifies me. That's why I write about it, and if reading my books make people feel better somehow, that makes me feel better too. The money's not bad either."

Brian laughed. "Yeah, I suppose not too many guys write a best seller in college. Are you working on another one?"

"I hope so," Rick replied. "For one thing, I blew all the money from the first one, but I just met an incredible girl and she's kind of an inspiration. I'm calling the new book _A Rose for Everafter_."

Brian looked at Rick approvingly. "It's good that you're getting on with your life. I wish you the best of luck."

"Thanks," Rick returned. "You too."


	3. Chapter 3

After the Woods

Chapter 3

Martha hurried to answer the door as she finished zipping her dress. A young woman stood nervously on the threshold. "Kyra, darling, what are you doing here?" Martha asked, stepping aside to let her visitor in. "What has that son of mine done now?"

"Martha, Rick hasn't done anything wrong," Kyra assured her, "but I'm worried about him."

"Why?" Martha asked, her stage persona instantly vanishing.

"Maybe because he hasn't done anything wrong," Kyra explained, "no pranks, no all night TV marathons, no crazy games, nothing. It's not like him. But it's more than that. He's been having nightmares, waking up with tears in his eyes and shoulders so tight he can barely move them."

"Have you asked him what's going on?" Martha questioned.

"I have," Kyra responded, the threat of tears in her own voice. "He told me not to worry about it, that everything's fine. Do you know what's going on?"

Martha's fingers twisted in the fabric of her dress. "I'm not sure. I'll talk to him."

"Thank you, Martha," Kyra said, hugging the older woman. "You were getting ready to go out. I'll go now."

* * *

><p>"Mother I'm fine," Rick protested when Martha showed up at his door.<p>

"Richard, darling, your girlfriend has her feet solidly on the ground. She would not be coming to me over nothing," Martha argued. "Now obviously she doesn't know what happened to you..."

"And I don't want her to," Rick interrupted. "I don't want's to lay that on her. Besides, I've put it behind me."

"Obviously you haven't," Martha pointed out, "or we wouldn't be having this discussion. I know you tried. I know you worked at it, but whatever help you got before wasn't enough. You need more. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for Kyra and do it for me."

Rick smiled wryly. "All right Mother, I will. I think I know who to call."

* * *

><p>"You're moving up in the world," Rick told Brian Pierce, "an office."<p>

Brian laughed. "A glorified broom closet, but it's somewhere we can talk. So are things coming back on you? Nightmares? Depression?"

"How did you know?" Rick asked.

"Because," Brian explained, "it's happened to a lot of other people I've worked with who've gone through trauma. They think they've put it behind them and then pow! Something triggers the memory and they're dealing with it all over again. The military has been seeing a lot of it as well from the soldiers who were in the gulf. What happened to you to touch this off?"

Rick shook his head. "It's stupid."

"It's human," Brian encouraged, "tell me about it."

"I saw a bunch of people in gray sweats. They had been doing some kind of a race and they were soaking wet and worn out." Rick restlessly ran a hand through his hair. "They weren't even unhappy. They were proud of themselves, but seeing exhausted people in sweats like we wore on the island, everything I tried to forget just came flooding back and I haven't been able to shake it. Is there anything I can do?"

"That's the question," Brian told him. "A lot of people, including the military, have been working on therapies for problems like yours. Unfortunately, so far success has been limited. I'm up on all the protocols though, we can work on it together. There are some drugs out there that have some promise. I'm working with a doctor who's experimenting with some of those, if you're interested. No guaranties."

Rick sat for a moment, scrubbing his hands over his face. "Yeah, I want to meet him."

"Rick, I know you signed all the paperwork, but I'm going to tell you one more time," Dr. Milman cautioned. "This is an off label use of this drug. There can be unwanted be side effects. You may get dizzy, especially if you stand up too quickly. Also for this to work, you are going to have to recall your experience, while under the influence of the drug. Are you absolutely sure you want to do that?"

"I'm recalling it anyway," Rick declared. "I don't see how it could get worse. I need to try this."

"All right," Milman agreed, offering a pill and some water. "You take this and when it takes full effect, we'll begin."

"How will you know?" Rick asked.

"I'm going to take a baseline pulse and blood pressure now. When you're under the influence your pulse should be slower and your pressure lower." Milman replied. "I'll measure them before I ask you to remember. In the meantime, you should do something distracting. You can read, or listen to music, or watch TV."

"I brought my notebook, is it okay if I write?" Rick proposed.

"That's right," Milman recalled. "You're an author. Write about anything you like except what happened on the island."

For the first time since entering the doctor's office, Rick smiled. "I'll write a love scene."

Rick felt a little sleepy as Milman took his vitals. "Rick, we're ready for you to begin," the doctor confirmed.

Rick closed his eyes, remembering his experience, and began his narration. "It was the hottest part of the day. There weren't many girls on the island, not that I saw anyway. I heard a rumor that Joshua had some kind of harem, but this girl probably wouldn't have qualified. She was small in every obvious way for a girl, and being half starved didn't help. She was trying to break up clods in the ground with a little spade, but the spade was dull and the dirt had baked in the sun. It was almost like stone and she wasn't making much progress. One of the black shirts came over and told her she should work harder. When she told him she was doing her best, he beat her, not just across the back or the shoulders, but across her face. She had blood streaming into her eyes and she begged the bastard to stop, but he laughed and beat her more. I couldn't take it. I tackled him, but by that time I was pretty weak myself. He easily put me on the ground and then he raised his crop. I don't know how many times he hit me, but eventually I passed out. He just left me there in the dirt, I don't know how long. When I woke up the stars were out. More crawling than walking, I made my way to the bunkhouse.

The next morning I was too sore to move, but the blackshirts pulled me off my bed, pushed me into the field and dropped me in the dirt. They told me that if I couldn't stand up, I could work from the ground. They laughed as I was trying to pull out some weeds. The most I could do was strip a few leaves and tear up my hands even more than they already were. When the whistles blew, some of the other workers helped me get to the dining hall. I couldn't manage to eat, but at least I got some water. I was surprised the black shirts allowed even that to happen, but I guess they found it more amusing to watch me suffer than to watch me die of dehydration. It went on like that for days until I could manage to sit up and work again, but after that, I was a coward, afraid to protest anything the black shirts did. That was the worst of it. I wasn't a man anymore. I wasn't anything."

"Rick, I think that's enough," Milman told him, breaking the tortuous stream of remembrance. "You are not a coward. You were beaten into submission. None of this was your fault. You rest now. I'm going to call Brian to take you home."

Brian delivered Rick back to his apartment where Kyra waited. Rick had stubbornly continued to refuse to tell her what had happened to him, but had admitted that a friend had steered him to some help for his nightmares. She could only see that he was too quiet. "Rick, what can I do?" she asked.

Rick wrapped her tightly in his arms, burying his face in her hair. "Just let me hold you."


	4. Chapter 4

After the Woods

Chapter 4

"Rick are you sure you want to do this?" Brian asked as their boat approached the shore of the island.

"Brian look," Rick reiterated, "I'm been working with Dr. Milman for over a month. The nightmares are gone. I still remember everything, but it doesn't seem to put me away anymore. I can almost look at it as if it happened to someone else. I need to know that's going to hold, that I'm not going to see or hear something that will throw me back into the black hole. If I can cope with coming back here, I can cope with anything."

"Okay buddy," Brian agreed, a hint of doubt still tinging his voice. "It looks like we can tie up at the dock." The wooden dock had weathered in the year that Joshua had been gone but the pylons looked solid and the brass tie downs were intact. Rick climbed out of the boat and carefully secured it before Brian followed him to the dock. Rick had brought a compass and a camera and they headed in the direction of the fields. "What's the camera for?" Brian inquired.

"The work they made us do was all about taking care of plants," Rick explained, "I don't understand why. They weren't pot. They weren't food, or at least no vegetables I've ever seen, and Joshua certainly didn't feed us any greens. If there are any of the plants left in the field or in the greenhouse we saw on the aerial photos, I want pictures so I can look them up. If I can understand why Joshua made us do what we did, I can complete the puzzle. That will make it easier to put aside."

The plants in the field were mostly dead, but Rick documented what he found, struggling to hold his camera still as his hands trembled. "Do you want me to do that?" Brian asked.

Rick shook his head. "I need to do this."

They moved on to the greenhouse. The plants there were dead as well, but the shriveled remnants were in pots and easy to photograph. The mother load consisted of small manilla envelopes containing seeds and labeled with Latin names. "Do you know what any of those are?" Brian asked.

"My apartment doesn't have much of a garden," Rick joked. "But I'm going to find out," he declared, sticking the packets under his jacket.

"You okay?" Brian asked.

"Yeah," Rick replied. "I think I really am. Let's get out of here."

* * *

><p>Rick sat at a table laden with reference books in his comfort and refuge, The New York Public Library. Looking up the identifications on the envelopes had been relatively simple. Datura Stamonium was Jimson weed, Atropa Belladona, deadly nightshade, Mandragorum officinarum, mandrake, and Hyocyamus, henbane. The common element was that they contained hallucinogens and some were potent poisons as well. The leaves were more difficult as he carefully compared his photographs of shriveled plants to pictures of green and healthy ones. Through dogged effort he was finally able to ascertain that the leaves were from types of grasses called Phalaris and from morning glory, both also hallucinogenic. "Joshua had his own little drug making operation," Rick muttered to himself. "No wonder he thought he was some kind of god. He probably used his own products."<p>

Rubbing his eyes and stretching to relieve the kinks acquired from hours of hunching over his books, Rick decided to pick up a pizza to take to Kyra. She certainly deserved some kind of a treat, supporting him even as he coped with things he had never explained. He'd get a veggie pizza, not his favorite, but definitely hers.

Rick found Kyra at the kitchen table looking at books on England. "Writing a paper?" he asked, "you could have come to the library with me."

"No," Kyra answered, "I'm not doing a paper, I'm just fascinated. There's so much history in England. I'd love to see Stonehenge and The Tower of London and all the ancient castles."

"Yeah? Maybe we can plan a trip for after you graduate," Rick proposed, "see all those things together."

"Maybe," Kyra replied with less than the level of enthusiasm Rick expected. "how did your research go?"

"It went well. I think I actually learned some things I may use in a book, especially if I do a death by poison. And I come bearing gifts!" he proclaimed, holding out the pizza box."

Kyra regarded him skeptically."You were researching poisons and you bring me a pizza. Should I be afraid?"

Rick tilted up the elfin chin for a kiss. "As if I could ever bear to see any harm come to my rose."

"You know Rick, you don't have to protect me," Kyra told him. "I'm actually pretty sturdy. I may even have a couple of thorns."

"I know," Rick teased, touching the sharpness of her elbow. "I've had them in my ribs in the middle of the night. But I want to protect you and take care of you. Is that bad?"

"When you won't let me in on what hurts to you it is, Rick," Kyra explained. "It's supposed to go both ways. You want to take care of me. I think you'd surround me with bubble wrap if you could, but you won't let me take care of you. You won't tell me what gave you nightmares. You won't explain why you took that trip with Brian. I don't even know what you were doing at the library, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't about a book. I'm sure Brian knows what's been bothering you, but there is so much in that hard head of yours I just can't reach. I just wish you'd trust me enough to let me in."

"Kyra, I do trust you," Rick protested, "but Brian is a professional and he's had some of the same experiences I've had. Telling things to him is like telling a doctor, and believe me you don't want to know what I've told my doctor. Knowing about some things can only cause pain and I don't want to do that to you. Can't you trust me to make that judgment?"

Kyra sighed in thought. "I don't know Rick. I want a partner, not a protector. Whatever is happening or has happened with you, I want to share it. You can't keep shutting me out."

"For now can we just share the pizza?" Rick asked hopefully.

Kyra smiled weakly. "For now." As she reached for a slice, Kyra's eyes fell on her books on England. A sadness washed through her, realizing that when the time came to go, she needed to go alone.


	5. Chapter 5

After the Woods

Chapter 5

Richard Castle's foot was heavy on the accelerator of his Mercedes as he rushed to reach his Hamptons beach house. He had been waiting and searching his entire life, through Kyra, through Meredith, and through Gina. For six sometimes torturous years he had waited for Kate, but now the wait was almost over. She was already the perfect partner who now she would be his wife. Despite even the latest challenge, the fairy tale would finally have a happy ending. So caught up was he in the excitement of the moment that he almost missed the black SUV coming up too fast in his rear view mirror. He increased his already excessive speed, but the bigger vehicle pulled alongside him. He thought, he hoped, that it just wanted to pass, but it moved right, taking out his tail light and sending his car plummeting off the road. Stunned as the air bag exploded in his face, Castle was barely aware of two men dragging him out of the car and back up the hill to their attack car. He felt the sting of an injection, and then nothing.

Castle awoke in a motel room with two men with guns pointed at him. One of them handed him the satchel he'd had in the backseat of his car, containing the clothes he wore before putting on his tux for the wedding. "Get out of the monkey suit," the man commanded, "we have a little job for you to do." The man held up thick wads of bills Castle recognized as his honeymoon money. "You're going to make something disappear."

"What the hell is this about?" Castle asked. "Who are you people?"

"You might say we're friends of a very old friend," the man with the cash sneered. "But don't even think of trying to get away. We know where all your loved ones are gathered waiting for your wedding. You make the wrong move and the guns will be aimed at them. Now get out of that tux!"

When Castle did as instructed, his tuxedo was folded into his satchel and shoved, along with Castle, into another black SUV. Castle was driven to an alley where he was instructed to place his money in a dumpster and return to the car. After he grudgingly complied, one of his captors roughly pushed up Castle's sleeve and the world faded into darkness.

Castle struggled to breathe against the heat and humidity oppressing his lungs. Slowly he forced his eyes to open. The light was dim, but he could feel the press of bodies against him and the unyielding floor against his back as the stench of sweat assaulted his senses. Muscles protesting, he levered himself upward. He was surrounded by women. In another time, another place, he would have been ecstatic. But this situation was anything but arousing. So close together that barely an inch of floor was visible, the women moaned painfully in fitful sleep.

A metal door grated open, flooding the sleepers with bright sunlight, shocking them awake. A man stepped into the sudden illumination. "Ah Rick, or should I say Mr. Castle, you're awake."

Using his hand to try to shield his eyes from the glare, Castle searched for the source of the voice. The horrifying face gradually became clear. "Joshua!"

The sneering tones were like acid in Castle's face. "I see you remember me. Then you remember my promise. What better way for me to keep it than to bring you here, away from your family, your friends, and of course, your bride. Everything you had," Joshua bragged, holding Castle's satchel, "is mine. Here you will be forever surrounded by women, but you will never again see the one you desire most."

Joshua signaled to men outside the door. The nightmare Castle thought long banished had returned. Joshua still had his black shirts and this time they all carried Glock nines. He was herded along with the women, across a yard into a huge building. It was in every sense of the word, a sweat shop. The temperature and humidity were almost as high as in the room where Castle had regained consciousness, with work stations so close together that it was difficult to move between them. Castle couldn't determine what they were producing, only that they were set up for some sort of assembly that involved fitting small parts into plastic frameworks. The women quickly began work as soon as they reached their assigned places. Castle was shoved into a station at the end of a row, about the only position where his body, so much larger than that of his co-workers, would fit.

A woman who appeared to be some kind of supervisor was pushed by smirking black shirts toward Castle and attempted to explain his duties. The language she spoke sounded vaguely like Spanish, but Castle couldn't understand a word. His blank look was accompanied by the shrugging of his shoulders. She tried again, picking up a small part and shoving it quickly into its slot in a larger part and placing it in a bin on an unmoving conveyor belt. Pointing to Castle, she picked up another set of parts and handed them to him. His larger fingers fumbled, but eventually imitated what she had done. Staring into his eyes, she made a circular motion, similar to the one Castle had seen directors make to indicate that an interviewer should speed things up. Then she inclined her head toward the nearest black shirt and walked away. Castle just stood where he was until the black shirt approached and stuck the his Glock under Castle's chin. "Maybe you didn't understand what the lady showed you. You put the parts together or no one will be able to put you together. He brought the butt of the gun across Castle's cheek.

Stunned and bleeding, Castle struggled to comply, all the while scanning the room for any means of of escape. The day seemed endless, with only a short break for scarce food and the use of a room with primitive toilets. With no barrier, Castle turned his back trying to achieve some level of privacy for himself and the women, who helped by huddling to shield each other.

Castle noticed that at intervals the conveyors moved and workers replaced bins, each identified by number, with fresh ones. Several women, including Castle's instructor, examined the parts for errors, pulling any that were improperly assembled out of the bins. The bins were then placed on scales by blackshirts and the totals noted.

Castle couldn't determine when the workday ended, only that hours seemed interminable. The black shirts consulted their logs and most workers were allowed to return to the sleeping quarters. For some, their totals were found wanting and they were made to stay behind to make up for the shortage. Castle was kept back with them. The last to finish, he was allowed few hours of sleep before he was returned to his station.

At what Castle took to be mid-morning the door of the factory opened. Accompanied by several of his black shirts, Joshua strode in. Castle saw the women around him flinch. Joshua spoke in the language of Castle's fellow workers, but the threat was clear in his face. He pointed to the woman who had been the last to finish before Castle the night before. Her hair was grabbed by a black shirt and she was dragged out screaming.

Smiling, Joshua looked straight at Castle. "You're wondering why it wasn't you, the slowest of the group?" Joshua asked in English. "I have other punishments in mind for you, starting with, for every shortage you have, for every mistake you make, they," he said sweeping his hand toward the cowering women, "will suffer."

"It's not fair!" Castle protested. "Come at me, but leave them alone."

Joshua's eyes shone like pools of endless darkness. "You will find that here I decide what's fair, and everyone one of this pitiful throng serves only to fulfill my will. So work as if their lives depend on it. They do."


	6. Chapter 6

After the Woods

Chapter 6

Castle struggled to make his large fingers as nimble as those of the women working beside him. For every gain he made on his quota, they would have more sleep, more adequate food. For several days he seemed to have been making progress, but today he felt as if he were moving through molasses. It seemed even hotter. Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he hesitated to lift a hand even to wipe it away, terrified of the penalty for lost seconds. A headache raged behind his eyes, made worse every time he shifted them. His knees and elbows screamed, even above the level to which he had become accustomed. He swayed on his feet, desperately attempting to maintain his pace. When the respite of the short meal time came, he was unable to summon the energy or the will to move from his station, sinking to the floor to rest.

As if in the distance, Castle could hear two black shirts talking above him. "What do you think is wrong with him?"

"He's got a rash, and looks like a fever."

"God damn Dengue. We better tell Joshua."

Castle opened his eyes to Joshua's twisted smile and the feel of an actual bed beneath him. "I guess we gave you the wrong shots," Joshua taunted. "You're where the mosquitoes can't spread your disease to the other workers. But don't worry, we've upped their quotas to make up for your absence. You won't have to catch up when you get back. Just lie there and think of all those dear ladies working so hard because of you."

Castle struggled to get a response past his dry lips. "You're a monster!"

Joshua laughed. "Most gods are."

Despite the fever and the almost intolerable pain in his joints, Castle was determined to absorb as much information as he could from the black shirts who seemed to enjoy observing his suffering. Desperate to overhear their conversations, he feigned sleep as much as he could when they came to watch him and gloat. His efforts paid off. He learned that he was in the Marianas Islands where factories escaping all labor laws could still stamp their products made in the U.S.. The black shirts laughed about how hard Joshua had to work to master the local language, Chamorro. It also amused them that Joshua had stashed Castle's satchel with his wedding tuxedo and watch in a closet in the room where Castle lay apparently oblivious. Castle learned that despite his delusions of godhood, Joshua was part of a larger organization, producing not only cheap knock off electronics but clothing. The black shirts also referred to "the cartel," from which Castle speculated that drug money was somehow involved. The otherwise fearless Joshua was fearful of the consequences if he failed in his commitment to the nebulous upper management. That fear was something Castle prayed he could use.

As the pain receded, Castle was able to move around, sneaking out of his room to get the layout of the quarters occupied by Joshua and the black shirts and slowly putting together an escape plan. He also retrieved his satchel from the closet and stashed it in an outer corner of a porch where he could grab it if he ever got the opportunity. Joshua maintained a boat for trips to neighboring islands. It was scarcely guarded, especially at night when the workers were locked in their quarters. Castle knew from his training from Powell that with the use of fine assembly tools he could pick the lock, but he needed some way to assure that Joshua or the organization behind him wouldn't come after him, or worse, his family or Kate. For that he needed to steal a phone from one of the blackshirts.

Though still weak, Castle was glad to be returned to his duties. Not only did it take the pressure off the women, it would give him a chance to put his plan into effect. The tools were sadly easy to obtain. The woman at the work station next to his was gone. He shuddered to think of the reason, but was able to palm what he needed when finally allowed to return to his quarters for the night. He hid them in a crack in the floor.

The phone posed more of a problem, but Castle found his chance two days later. A black shirt stood over the last woman dismissed for the night, making lewd suggestions. He spoke English rather than Chamorro, but his suggestive motions made his meaning more than clear. As he leaned over her, his phone and a wad of cash poked out of his pocket and Castle grabbed both, snapped quick pictures of the factory, and hid his booty under his clothes.

Using the clock on the stolen phone, Castle waited until three A.M. to put his plan into effect. He retrieved his tools and carefully picked his way over the women on the floor around him to the door. Concentrating to remember all that Powell had taught, the dim glow of the phone provided just enough illumination to accomplish his goal. The door was unlocked.

Giving silent thanks that there were no clouds, Castle used the light from the moon and stars to find his way to where the boat was moored, stopping briefly on the way to retrieve his hidden satchel. Unfortunately, just as Castle breathed a sigh of relief that he had executed his plan undetected, the noise of the starter of the engine of Castle's boat brought a black shirt, Glock in hand. The black shirt fired as Castle cast off, but Castle headed out to sea. When he was out of gunfire range, Castle swiped the Joshua icon on the phone.

The hiss of the familiar voice responded after several rings. "This better be important for you to wake me Nolan!"

"This isn't Nolan," Castle told him. "This is Castle and I'm in your boat headed away from your little fiefdom. Know this Joshua. I know about your operation, I have evidence, and I know what will happen to you if you make the cartel unhappy. So I'm going to make a deal with you. That information will be in a safe place and never released unless you take action against me or anyone I care about. I'm not doing this for you but for them, they never need to know of the horror you've built here. It's in both our interests to forget this happened. Do we understand each other?"

The seconds passed and Castle heard nothing but rough breathing. Finally, almost inaudibly, Joshua's voice came, "We have an understanding." It was only then that Castle felt the burn across his ribs and the stickiness of the blood seeping into his shirt.


	7. Chapter 7

After the Woods

Chapter 7

Trying to ignore the pain of the bullet graze, Castle used the boat's GPS to steer for the nearest island. The sun was rising as he approached, searching for a place he could tie up the boat. He found a dock at the foot of wooden steps leading up to what appeared to be a weather beaten but functioning hotel. Holding tightly to the rickety railing and his satchel, he gingerly made his way upward to the entrance of the building.

The clerk eyed Castle doubtfully, but accepted some of the cash Castle had pilfered from the lascivious black shirt and handed Castle a key. Supporting himself with a hand on the wall, Castle made it to his room and collapsed on the bed.

It was mid afternoon when Castle awoke. His first thought was of contacting Kate and his family, but he realized that there would be no stopping Kate from coming to the islands and going after Joshua. After all they'd been through, Castle couldn't live with idea of having her throw herself into the cross hairs again. He'd have to put himself a position to enforce his threat against Joshua. Before Kate, Alexis, or his mother could ever hear from him again, a plan would have to be in place.

Leaving the hotel for the seaside town, Castle found a close by tourist trap selling clothes. Castle was relieved to discover that the store clerk spoke English, as had the clerk at the hotel, and surmised that English was a necessary skill to take advantage of the tourist trade. Despite the nervous look on the clerk's face at the now dried blood on Castle's shirt, Castle's cash was accepted. Far from his usual style, he attempted to buy what would make him as inconspicuous as possible. Castle made a quick return to his room to clean up and change. By luck, or perhaps because Joshua had considered it a trophy, Castle's passport was in his satchel. With his passport as identification, Castle sought out a bank where he was able to transfer funds from his emergency account to arrange transportation. With enough cash, few questions were asked either for the charter of a boat to an island with a small airport, or for the charter of a plane. The overarching question was the plane's destination.

Castle called the one person for whom very few explanations would be required for Joshua's actions: Brian Pierce. Through occasional contact over the years, Castle was aware that Brian had relocated to Montreal. After some conversation, Brian instructed Castle to fly there.

They met in a building at 876 Rue Sebastien. "Brian, what is this place?" Castle asked.

"Rick," Brian explained, "I have a partnership here with some of my colleagues. It's an expansion and an improvement on the work I was doing when you worked with Dr. Milman after your first encounter with Joshua. We help people make fresh starts. Milman is here and he's made a lot of strides in the intervening years. We have a really good hacker to put together backgrounds and a couple of other partners. We do whatever is necessary to help people get on with their lives."

"Sounds like what I need," Castle responded. "The most important thing I need to do is protect Kate. If she gets into this, she'll never stop and she could end up dead, or with Joshua, worse than dead."

"How about your mother and daughter?" Brian asked.

"I don't want my daughter to know either. She was kidnapped herself less than two years ago. She's been through enough. She doesn't need this. My mother handled the situation with Joshua. I think she'd prefer to see that chapter closed forever. We might be able to drop her some kind of reassurance. I don't know."

"Look Rick, we can make you forget what happened, if that's what you want," Brian told him, "but from what you told me before you came, this is going to be a lot more complicated than that. Your disappearance has been splashed across the papers and the web. You are going to need a pretty substantial cover story. Also to do something that severe to your memory, there are some real risks. Dr. Milman will explain those to you."

"If I remember the good doctor, he'll do that in excruciating detail," Castle joked.

Brian laughed. "That hasn't changed, but the risks being what they are, you'll probably want to set up a fail safe, messages for your family and for your fiancée in case things go really wrong."

"What do you mean 'really wrong?'" Castle asked.

"Rick," Brian said solemnly, "you could die."

Castle drew a deep breath, covering his face with his hands. "That's better than Kate or my family dying," he answered. "Let's do it."

"You'll be making videos for Kate, for Alexis, and for your mother," Brian told Castle. "Are you sure you want to do that now? You look like hell."

"If I'm dead when they get them, it'll make them more convincing," Castle considered. "We might as well."

Brian led Castle to room with a video camera. Castle prepared his first message for Alexis. Scrubbing his hands over eyes that threatened to overflow, he began. "Alexis, if you are watching this, I am probably dead. I wish I could explain. I never meant to leave you or Gram or Kate like this. Believe me, it was not my choice. Just know that I have loved you from the moment you were born and I love you now. My desperate wish is that you put this behind you and have a great life."

For Martha, Castle could leave only the most subtle of clues. "Mother, if you are watching this, I am probably dead. We both know that some things are best forgotten. I hope that you can move on from whatever has happened and help Alexis and Kate to put it behind them. I love you."

Kate was the most difficult. Castle took a few moments to try to compose himself, but still on the ragged edge, recorded his final message. "Kate, if you're seeing this … well, if you're seeing this, I'm probably dead. I want you to know, I never intended to leave you, not like this, not on our wedding day, but I – it wasn't my choice. I wish I could tell you what's going on, I wish I could explain … but just know that I love you. I've always loved you. Always."

"Rick," Brian suggested softly. "Let's get you a decent room. You can get some rest and we'll meet in the morning to take care of these."

Bone tired in every part of his being, Castle agreed.


	8. Chapter 8

After the Woods

Chapter 8

Castle's room was a comforting refuge in a small inn accustomed to putting up Brian's clients. No questions were asked as Castle was provided with whatever amenities he needed and bid good night. Castle wished with all his heart that Kate could be in his arms beneath the warmth of the comforter, but he had only a bolster to grasp. Despite his exhaustion, sleep came slowly. Questions whirled in his head. Would he ever see Kate or his family again? Could he make sure they were safe? He fervently hoped the answers were yes.

Morning came too soon for the night's rest to counteract weeks of exhaustion, worry, and pain, but Castle got up to make his meeting with Brian. They met outside a bank not far from the inn. Brian introduced Castle to the bank manager who rented them a safety deposit box under the aegis of Brian's firm and conducted them into a private room where they could fill it. Brian handed Castle memory cards for the videos he had made the day before, along with envelopes to address. One envelope each for Kate, Alexis, and Martha were placed within the box.

"Rick, I'll keep one key," Brian explained. "When we're finished with the process, we'll secure another one on your body somewhere. One way or another, if the worst should happen, the messages will get where they need to go."

Returning with Brian to the building on Rue Sebastien, Castle was reacquainted with a somber Dr. Milman. "Rick," he explained solemnly, "to achieve the type of memory suppression you're seeking, it's going to be a multistage process which may be much harder on your body than your previous course of treatment. There may be unforeseen complications and there is a non-zero chance of fatality, as I believe Brian has already told you."

"How high is non-zero?" Castle asked.

"Up to five percent," Milman replied.

Castle swallowed and cleared his throat. "I can accept that."

"Also," Milman continued, "you may become disoriented during the course of treatment, act unpredictably. We'll be keeping a very close watch on you, especially during the last stage."

"How long will all of it take?" Castle asked. "I've already been gone for weeks. Kate, my family, I can't imagine what they're going through."

"One way or another, we'll be done by late September," Milman told him. "I'm sorry, that's the best I can do."

Castle ran a hand through his now overlong hair and closed his eyes. It tore at his heart to picture what must be going on in New York. With a sigh of resignation he told Milman that he was ready to go ahead.

Advised by Milman to work his plans out completely with Brian before subjecting his brain to any of the drugs, Castle worked out a proposal that would make it look as if he had never left the country, and in fact had been camping. If he couldn't return, or couldn't make Kate understand that he loved her, he much preferred that she think he was not worth her time, hoping that it would minimize her grief and keep her from investigating further. He and Brian agreed to set up a campsite salted with Castle's possessions, including his precious tuxedo, which could be discovered by the detecting skills of Kate and her compatriots at the 12th Precinct. The story would be hard on Alexis and Martha as well, but Castle knew that in the end Brian would be able to make them understand that his love for them never ceased. Castle also arranged for an anonymous story on working conditions in the Marianas Islands to be delivered to an aggressive advocacy organization, hoping to start a cascade that would help the women Joshua had trapped.

Dr. Milman began treatment with a series of injections. At first, Castle was able to stay at the inn, but as things progressed, and his mind became fuzzier, he stayed at the Rue Sebastien building. Finally, he and Brian flew to Massachusetts, where Brian used the trailer of a friend, Henry Jenkins to set the stage. Castle's hair was cut and his beard shaved to lend authenticity to the camping story. Having obtained two months of newspaper articles covering Castle's disappearance, Brian had Castle touch them as well as food and extra clothing in Castle's size. Brian set up a tent close to the water with those items as well as Castle's tux, the shoes that went with it, which had been in the satchel, along with Castle's watch. Other than lending his DNA, Castle was too disoriented to help.

The plan was that once the stage had been set, Brian would give Castle the final injection and a suggestion which would finish erasing the prior two months and keep Castle from remembering Brian and his organization. The key to the safety deposit box in Montreal was sewn into Castle's pants. The injection should have knocked Castle out immediately at which point Brian could leave him unconscious on a road near a ranger station where he could be easily found. Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned. Castle didn't lose consciousness right away, but became unable to recognize Brian. Confused he ran desperately from the trailer to a dinghy a fisherman had moored at a nearby dock. Brian was unable to catch up before Castle jumped in the boat and started the engine. The boat's owner yelled for Castle to stop, but when Castle cast off, fired three round from his hunting rifle into the hull of the boat. Brian was able to calm the fisherman by offering recompense for the boat taken by his mentally disturbed cousin, and called in help from his partners, even as the dinghy ran out of fuel and was dragged southward by the current.

"Could Brock see him Dick?" Brian asked a partner in communication with the small plane they had searching the open water for Castle's dinghy.

"I'm sorry," Dick responded, "there wasn't a sign of him. Brock's going to refuel and keep looking further south, but there's a pretty big window for where he could have drifted."

Brian thanked him and asked him to keep in touch. He wasn't sure what more he could do. If he alerted the authorities, Rick's story could be blown and he had promised Rick that no matter what, he wouldn't let that happen. He sat in the trailer with his face in his hands. Rick had been prepared to die if that was what it took to keep Kate and his family safe. Sadly, it looked like that might be the ending that would come. He fingered the key in his pocket. While he was waiting for news, Brian had his hacker, Chad, plant Brian's picture as Henry Jenkins with the DMV, just in case his planted site was found and someone came asking questions.

For more than three days there was no sign of Castle's dinghy and Brian questioned whether he should return to Montreal to send out videos. Finally the call came from Dick. Brock had spotted the dinghy off Delaware not far from a Coast Guard ship. It was very likely he would be picked up, and if not, an anonymous tip could be called in. "Dick, go to New York," Brian instructed. "Watch the family and especially Kate when they get the news. I need to know what's going on."

Kate came to the hospital on a dead run, greeting Ryan and Esposito, who told her that Martha and Alexis were on their way in a cruiser. The doctors wouldn't release information to him and Esposito, but they would to next of kin. She stopped short at the sight of Castle, his skin aflame against the white of the hospital linens. He was there, he was really there. Coming into his room she called to him, as she had in Washington D.C. when he had almost been taken from her. She stroked his sun-reddened arm, but there was no response. Martha and Alexis had arrived and Kate was able to overhear the doctors reassure them. As Alexis and Martha waited at Castle's bedside, Kate had other ideas. She would find out where that dinghy came from and what had happened to Castle.


	9. Chapter 9

After the Woods

Chapter 9

"Kate's coming up there with another cop," Dick reported anxiously.

Brian had hoped he wouldn't have to do it, but he had no choice. The drugs had acted so unpredictably that Brian couldn't be sure if Rick would even wake up. He would play the part of Henry Jenkins and point Kate to the planted evidence.

The look on Kate's face when Brian identified Rick as the man who had been camping on the beach was so heartbreaking that Brian wanted desperately to reveal the sham. Running his fingers over the key he maintained in his pocket, he kept his peace. Watching through binoculars, he could see Kate and her companion explore the tent he had set up with Rick's possessions. After a call came in on Kate's cell, he watched her leave, obviously upset but determined.

Unsure of what to do next, Brian answered another call from Dick. "Rick's awake," he reported. "His family's with him now."

"Okay," Brian replied. "I'm heading back to Montreal. There's nothing more I can do here now. Keep an eye on things in New York."

Brian had been following the news of Rick's reappearance on the web, as well as receiving reports from Dick. Rick's claim that he remembered nothing of the last two months would have been a relief except for the speculation by critics and even some of his fans that he had made the whole thing up either as a publicity stunt to sell books or as a cover-up for getting cold feet about marrying Kate. Brian shook his head. How could a man love a woman any more than Rick loved Kate? He was willing have her hate him, or even to die, to assure her safety. Rick had struck back, offering a $250,000 dollar reward for verifiable proof of where he had been and what he was doing during his absence. The loss of memory was no help. Rick was fighting it and suffering as much as Kate must be. Brian wished that he could end the pain, but he had given his promise and his firm had been well paid to make it stick. Dick had reported that Rick and his daughter had headed for the airport. Brian hoped that if they were pursuing some kind of lead, it was a false one.

Brian was jostled out of his thoughts by a call from the manager of the bank that safeguarded Rick's videos. Rick had been there with his daughter and he had accessed the box. It was a mixed blessing. Brian knew that nothing in the videos would give away what had actually happened, but Rick was getting too close. It was a relief, however, that Rick and Kate would know that Rick had not disappeared of his own free will. That, at least would give them some chance at a life together.

Brian relaxed somewhat when Dick reported that Rick had returned to New York. If he had more of a lead to what happened in Montreal, he would have stayed to pursue it. His hopes were dashed by another call. Rick had gotten on another Air Canada flight. Dick didn't know the destination, but indications were that he was on his way back to Montreal.

Brian knew that he didn't have much time. The flight to Montreal was short. Even allowing for the time it would take Rick to get through customs and find the building, he had a few hours at best. He cleared the building and took his pistol from his safe. He certainly had no intention of shooting his friend, even if Rick couldn't remember that they were friends, but he had to try the best he could to avoid triggering the memories they had worked so hard to banish.

Brian watched from a window as a cab pulled up and Rick nervously disembarked. He could hear Rick's footsteps as he made his way in. Rick found the one room to which he had a clue, the room where he had filmed his videos.

Brian followed, gun in hand, coming up behind Rick. "You weren't supposed to come back."

Castle turned to face the voice. "Ever," Brian continued, unwillingly pointing the gun at his friend.

"It's you!" Castle exclaimed.

For a moment, Brian thought Rick had recognized him. "What do you remember?" he asked apprehensively.

"Nothing," Rick replied.

Brian suppressed a sigh of relief. "That's good."

Rick was unconvinced. "I know you're involved. I know you know what happened to me. Who are you?"

"You can't be doing this, asking questions, offering rewards," Brian told him. "It's too dangerous."

"Then tell me what happened," Rick pleaded.

"You're not listening, Mr. Castle," Brian insisted. "You need to stop."

"Or what?" Rick asked.

"Or you're going to find out the truth," Brian confessed, "and you said you didn't want to remember. We went to great lengths to make sure you didn't. But if you keep looking..."

"There is no way in hell I asked for this!" Rick retorted.

"I'm sorry, but you did," Brian returned.

"I don't believe you," Rick declared.

Brain lowered his gun, knowing that he needed something even worse to convince his friend. "Hollander's Woods, Mr. Castle," he said softly. "That February day when you were eleven years old."

"No," Rick protested in horror.

"What happened to you there, the real reason you became a mystery writer," Brian continued.

Rick struggled to believe Brian's words. "How did you...? I never told anyone about that."

"No," Brian replied, "not Beckett, not your family. But you told me three weeks ago, so that if this ever happened, I would have proof. You'd know that you were the one who asked to forget."

"I asked for this?" Rick responded, horrified.

"Some mysteries aren't meant to be solved," Brian counseled gently. "It's over. Go home. Live your life. Forget this ever happened. It's what you wanted."

Brian walked away, leaving Rick to consider what he had said.

Castle walked slowly from the building and sat on the curb, head in hands for a long while, getting himself together enough to call another cab to begin his journey home.

Slowly clicking his key in the lock, Castle came face to face with Martha."Where were you? What happened?" she asked, seeing the distress etched on his face.

"Montreal," Castle answered. "I found out some things I'm not sure I want to know. I asked for this. I asked to forget."

Hearing her father's voice, Alexis joined them in the room. "How could you go up there on your own and not even tell us?"

"Because I needed to know and I knew you would try and stop me," Castle replied. "But now, what could I have done that was so bad that I asked them to make me forget?"

"Maybe you didn't do anything." Alexis suggested. "Maybe you found out something terrible or witnessed something terrible you didn't want to have to live with."

"Or maybe the past two months is like Pandora's box and shouldn't be opened," Martha suggested, taking a clue from Castle's video to her.

"Whatever my reasons, I need to tell Kate what I found, or she'll dig into this forever," Castle said.

"She called and said she was on her way a little while ago," Martha told him. "It's late. We'll make ourselves scarce. You two can have some private time."

Kate found Castle sitting thoughtfully on the bed. "Did you go back to Montreal?" she asked.

Castle looked up, smiling weakly. "How did you know?"

"Tory saw the readout on her screen. She thought you might have and called me," Kate confided. "What did you find?"

"I found the phony Jenkins, but Kate I don't think he's the villain in all this. He told me that I wanted to forget and he helped me do it."

"And you believed him?" Kate asked skeptically.

"I didn't want to," Castle assured her, "but he told me - he told me something he couldn't possibly have gotten from anyone but me."

"What?" Kate asked.

Castle took her hands, pulling her down on the bed beside him. "Remember when you asked me why I became a mystery writer? It was back before we were - you know."

"I remember," Kate affirmed. "You spun one of your tall tales."

"Well I told Phony Jenkins the real one," Castle confessed. "He's the only one I ever have told."

"Can you tell me now?" Kate asked.

Castle nodded sadly and recounted what had happened in the woods.

Kate leaned her head on his shoulder in comfort. "Castle if you didn't ask to forget that, whatever you did want to forget must be unimaginably horrific."

"Castle gave a wry laugh. "I don't know. I don't remember."

"Castle," Kate said, trying to return his smile, "I know you well enough to know that you keep your biggest secrets out of love. It may have been misguided, but you kept one to protect me. It's late and we're both tired. We can work this through, but for now, let's sleep on it."

"All right," Castle agreed.

Kate curled into Castle's side as they lay together in bed. "Alexis, Mother, what I did to them, what I did to you, how am I supposed to let that go?"

"I don't know," Kate replied. "I tried with my mom's murder. I buried it until you came along."

"You think it's possible," Castle asked, "to live without ever knowing?"

Kate pulled herself up to where she could look at him. "Oh Castle, this is completely different. Whatever happened to you, you already knew the truth and you decided you didn't want to remember it anymore. And as much as we wanted to know the answers, if you decided that, there must have been a reason."

"Maybe that's why I asked them to make me forget," Castle suggested hopefully, "so I could come home to you."

Kate smiled sadly.

"You know what?" Castle asked excitedly.

"What?" Kate asked.

"We should get married tomorrow, first thing. Put all this behind us."

Kate sat up in bed considering what Castle proposed. "Babe, there's nothing more that I want than to marry you, but not like this."

Castle felt the essence drain from his limbs. "You're not ready."

"No," Kate argued, "we're both not ready. "We're looking for solid ground and you think that getting married is going to fix the way that you feel and it won't. I love you and I'm here for you. But we need to get some distance from all of this. We need to get back to our own lives, find solid ground together. I promise you, I'm not going anywhere. We've waited this long, so let's just make it right."

Castle felt as if she had physically pushed him away. "How long?"

"A month?" Kate suggested. "No pressure, just us. And then we'll talk about it then?"

To Castle a month seemed interminable. He lay back, supporting his head on his arm, his gaze in the distance. Slowly he looked back to see the hope shining in her eyes. He smiled. "It's a date."

Kate snuggled down, her head on his chest. He could feel her warmth against what he now knew was an almost healed bullet graze. He drew her to him. It made sense somehow, his scar so close to hers. Somehow and soon, he hoped, stroking her hair, there would be healing for them both.

A/N Well I think that I've incorporated all the clues and tied up the loose ends. I'm sorry if I hijacked too much dialogue from the show. I've tried to stick to canon, but I'm sure that come February sweeps when the Castle writers continue their story, mine will become mostly AU. I'm happy to be able to move on as the show has, to something more upbeat, so I'll be working on a story for the Castle Halloween Bash. The new story will be called _Visitations_. The ghost of Johanna Beckett visits Kate to help her cope with her feelings before the wedding. I hope you'll join me. Thank you for all the love you send to me. Love to all of you, Sally.


End file.
